


What It Was That Made You Strong

by cyranothe2nd



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M, Out of Character, Porn, Size Kink, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/pseuds/cyranothe2nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Happy to see me?” Joker can’t help but ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Was That Made You Strong

**Author's Note:**

> For Kit_Cat Italica, who wanted Tumbler sex. Lyrics and title comes from ‘Obsessions’ by Marina the Diamonds.

_We’ve got our obsessions,  
You never told me what it was that made you strong,  
And what it was that made you weak…_

   Hands grab him out of the darkness, slamming him into the alley wall. His head hits concrete and stars erupt in his vision, just as lips fasten to his throat and suck hard. The suddenness of it steals Joker’s breath and he goes limp and compliant in Batman’s arms. Bats removes his mouth and tongues the mark he just made.

   “Happy to see me?” Joker can’t help but ask. Batman says nothing of course, but he presses a leg in between Joker’s, the weight of his body pinning Joker to the wall. Joker squirms against him. They’ve been doing this for months now but every time it’s different; every time it feels like looking into a stranger’s eyes and seeing every secret, every desire, every pain echoed back in theirs. Instant connection, instant heat. Before Batman, Joker didn’t care about any of this, thought sex was a joke that made fools of everyone. Now, he can’t seem to get enough, like he’s making up for a lifetime without his other half. And Bruce feels the same way, as much as he tries to deny it. It’s all there in his eyes—blue and covetous and so surprising, still.

   Joker grabs fistfuls of Batman’s cape and clings to him. The kiss gets rougher, teeth biting at his lower lip and Joker is already half-lost to it, pressing as close as he can, trying to climb Bruce’s body like a tree, to get more and more and _more_.

   Bruce makes a low rumbling sound into Joker’s mouth and lifts him easily, crushing Joker’s body against the brick, lifting his legs to wrap around Bruce’s thick torso. Bruce’s body is huge, empirically bigger than Joker’s. Joker doesn’t think about it much because usually, he’s the deadlier of the two. But if he’s honest, he loves the size of Bruce, the sheer, massive bulk of him. It drives him crazy how Bruce can move him around without effort, loves his huge hands and his broad shoulders and the way he isn’t at all careful with Joker.

   Joker flexes his legs and clings on like he’s never bothered learning to let go. His mouth is on Bruce’s, tongues dueling, fingers searching for bare flesh. Bruce gets there first, like he always does, and his huge, hot hand slides under Joker’s shirt and up to the small of his back. The other is clutching his ass so firmly that there will bruises tomorrow. Joker doesn’t care about that. He only wants to be closer.

   “Fuck,” Bruce pants, pulling his mouth away. This is something else that surprises Joker every time--how much Bruce wants this. He wants a reprieve from the crushing weight of responsibility he has tasked himself with. He wants to let go, to abandon his honor and his selflessness and his precious One Rule. He wants to let his true self out of its cage, if only for a night. He wants to give himself over to someone that he trusts—not with his identity or his city or his life, but trusts with the raw, bare instinct of the man he is beneath the armor.

   The heady realization—Batman _wants_ him—is almost too much to bear and he giggles a little, burying his face in Bruce’s neck.

   “Shut up,” Bruce mutters but there is no heat in it. His hands slide further up Joker’s shirt, curling around Joker’s bony shoulders. Bruce’s legs are the only thing keeping them both standing. Joker shivers.

   Suddenly, Bruce whirls around, his arms coming around Joker before gravity can bring him down and he’s walking, carrying Joker like he’s a child and it should not be hot but it is. Joker groans and begins licking at the bare skin between Bruce’s chin and the cowl.

   “Damn suit,” he mutters.

   “Don’t even think about cutting it off me,” Bruce warns.

   Joker pulls back to give him an innocent expression. “Would I do that?”

   Bruce narrows his eyes. They both know very well that Joker has destroyed two of Batman’s suits that way.

   Bruce shifts and fumbles for something on his belt, not relinquishing his hold on Joker. They’ve only moved a couple dozen paces away, to the sleek dark vehicle parked at the end of the alley. Bruce presses a button and the door slides open. Joker cuts him an excited look.

   “You’re going to let me into the Batmobile?” he says, half incredulous and half hopeful.

   “It’s not called that and you know it.”

   Joker ignores this because clearly a car driven by a Bat is called a Batmobile, no matter what Bruce thinks. Bruce sets him down on the edge of the driver’s seat, unwrapping his arms and then pressing a large hand to Joker’s chest and pushing him down. Joker lays across the seats, legs hanging out the door as Bruce fumbles with the buttons at Joker’s waist. He’s still wearing his gloves, the Kevlar dragging against Joker’s hips as Bruce hauls his pants down to his knees and sucks Joker’s cock into his mouth.

   Joker’s world explodes, lights twinkling behind his eyes as Bruce’s mouth works him. He bridges up and Bruce’s fingers press into the hollow of his hips, forcing him back down, hard, predatory, possessive. Joker moans and bucks against Bruce’s restraining hands, just to feel him press him down again. Bruce’s mouth doesn’t let up, ruthlessly applying heat and pressure. Joker feels pressed in from every angle, compressed back into himself until he feels like he will explode. He becomes distantly aware that he is making a great deal of noise just as one of Bruce’s large hands relinquishes its hold on his hip and wraps around his windpipe, holding him there, claiming him. It is so sudden and so perfect that Joker’s orgasm rips through him before he can even register it’s happening, jackhammering through his spine and crashing out to his limbs.

   Bruce doesn’t wait for him to recover himself. He is sliding up Joker’s chest, claiming his mouth even before the last spasm of orgasm shakes him. His head is swimming but he can taste himself in Bruce’s mouth, can feel the weight of Bruce’s body pressing him down. Bruce’s cock is pressed into his belly and his cheeks are flushed when he pulls away to look at Joker. Joker forces his eyes open because he wants to _see,_ wants to watch Bruce come apart above him.

   Bruce pistons his hips forward, neck muscles flexing as he ruts against Joker. His eyes meet Joker’s and their intensity pins him. The mask over Bruce’s face makes him look as if he is carved from obsidian, hard and sharp and unforgiving. Only the fullness of his lips betrays the passion of the man underneath. The dichotomy is fascinating and Joker finds himself reaching up, tracing the line of Bruce’s mouth with a trembling hand. Bruce turns into his hand, pressing a kiss to his fingertips as he moves with renewed purpose, dragging his hips across Joker’s. The edges of his suit dig into Joker’s thigh and the pain grounds him a bit, makes it possible for him to snake a hand down and work the armor over Bruce’s groin free. His hand insinuates itself inside to grasp Bruce’s cock and Bruce gasps and moves with purpose, pumping into Joker’s hand.

   Bruce crumples as he comes, collapsing heedlessly across Joker’s chest.

   It takes Joker a long moment to decipher the words Bruce mumbles into his neck and, when he finally does, it’s like a hand around his heart. He understands, then, why Bruce is so careful, why he barricades himself away, so determined to show no emotion ever. Because when he lowers that barrier, he is absolutely devastating.

   “Me too,” Joker says and it comes out rough and honest. Bruce’s body, which had been limp and sliding towards sleep, goes rigid.

   “Shhh,” Joker soothes. He leans up to kiss the negation off Bruce’s lips. “Let me have it for tonight, okay?”

   Bruce says nothing but his body loses some of its stiffness. He lays his head back down on Joker’s chest and wraps his arms around him. And, for just a moment, he lets himself be weak.  



End file.
